The breath of the wind was a soft welcome, stirring my tattered robes and causing atmospheric data to flicker, unbidden, in cerulean figures across my visual display. I smiled at the thought that Tython was greeting me after so long. I want to feel that breeze against my skin, suddenly, an urge almost painful in its intensity. I lifted my arm, old blaster damage forcing a judder to the movement, and my battered gauntlets touched release catches. With a consumptive hiss my helmet released and was lifted away.

The sunlight! I’d forgotten how gloriously bright Tython was. My eye screwed reflexively shut, the glare a spike of pain, but a welcome feeling after so long! The cybernetic that replaced my long-lost left eye abruptly dimmed, the closest its nerve-interface could come to matching my instinctive squint.

The soft breeze, the scent of the trees, the rush of cool water; this was why I’d arranged to make planetfall in the Gnarls rather than proceed directly to the Temple. Face upraised to the gentle heat of the sun, I opened my senses to the Force. Water is my key. I focused on the constant melody, listening until it became omnipresent. I remembered the first time I’d stood here, no more than a padawan, bearing wounds to my soul that I thought would never heal, enraptured by that eternal rippling. I felt as though I stood alone on the banks of a great river.

Now, the sound enveloped me as it did then, and that sense at the back of my mind began to perceive the flow of golden energy connecting Tython to every living thing on its surface. I pictured myself as a luminous being, the river of the Force surrounding me; flowing through me. There is an irony, I suppose, in how abruptly I find myself at peace and at one with the living Force on Tython. I have missed it, I realise now, on the long path I have walked between taking up my first lightsaber amid betrayal and slaughter, and this moment of homecoming.

I feel brief flares of curiosity from passing initiates and padawans, and my Force-self smiled faintly. The crude flesh and metal of my body would have drawn stares anywhere, I knew. I stand nearly seven feet tall, my shaven and oiled scalp no doubt gleaming in the sunlight. My left eye is a dark vision-plate, nesting in a tangled horror of old scars – the legacy of a brother’s betrayal amid the horror of the Sacking of Coruscant. Other cybernetics trace my brow, and smaller, newer, scars - the price of the path I walk - fleck my face. I know that, even though I am at peace, my features are stern and drawn.

Jedi are invariably more than they appear, although my physical capability is writ large in my frame. By calling I am a Guardian; my duty is to protect the people of the Republic, and to uphold its Laws. Safeguard the helpless, as my first and dearest master instructed me with his final breaths. Even in my meditative state I can feel the readiness of my muscles, the faint coolness of old scars, and the chill of cybernetics, here and there, grafted to my flesh and bone. My blue robes are tattered and dusty; the wages of my recent months – years? – of wandering the Outer Rim territories, and the lawless and benighted Wild Space beyond, in pursuit of that cabal of vicious Sith who have devoted their twisted lives to destroying everything I value.

Beneath my robes, armour gleams dully in the sun; a rich bronze. It’s that, of course, which is drawing the eyes and the curiosity of the others around me. No ceremonial finery or lightweight cortosis-weave duraplast, this, but top-grade beskar – full density, two percent ciridium. Rare, expensive, and almost unheard of for a Jedi to wear. I smile again, distantly, at the thought of the growl of disapproval that the dar'manda Brun’ner would give at its condition. It is dusty, battered, scarred here and there by impact burns and the black, straight wounds of lightsaber blows. ‘Verd ori'shya beskar'gam,’* I would say to him. ‘That’s no excuse, Jetii,’ he would reply. ‘Treat it well, lest it betray you in your time of need.’

He was right, of course, but my armour did not fail in the moment that mattered. My poor, fallen brother was not expecting Mandalorian iron. That habitual arrogance proved to be his downfall, even more than the hatred of me that blinded him so much. I sigh with regret, and sorrow at what he made me do.

The flow of the Force centres and balances me, calming my recollections of that combat to dispassionate flashes of memory, but I know that there is a dark core to my being, now, which I must strive tirelessly to master. But I am returned home, and here, perhaps, I can find forgiveness in meditation. There is no death, after all, there is only the Force - and perhaps in the Force Ahenobarb has found the peace he denied so venomously in life. My eye opens, and the cybernetic restores its visual input with a faint itching sensation along my temple. The initiates and padawans nearby, so curious at my presence, return hurriedly to their assigned tasks and the sudden flurry of movement makes me laugh aloud. I have missed this place. I am glad to have returned.

<Query = Master Arkurul = happy to be home> asks T7-O8, unusually quiet until now. I glanced down at the ebullient little droid that has served me so faithfully through so much darkness, and smile.

‘Yes, my friend, I am’ I replied. The droid whistles his satisfaction, and together we set out towards the great dome of the Jedi temple; the final steps on a long and difficult journey.

* ‘A warrior is more than his armour’

I posted a 'Legacy family gallery', if you will, over in the 'Show off your Characters' thread which you can find here. Ark is the first screenshot. I expect most, if not all, of them will crop up in future scribblings. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to your feedback.

@Stirges: I understand and agree with what you say, but for one niggling point. I have read the entire thread .

It took me from the 2nd October to the 23rd December. It's a shame Elliotcat's Meyali/Meenah crossover isn't in the author archive since I think that one is my overall favourite. I have also read the AU thread and can say that your Kirya/Rixik AU is my favourite, even though it makes reading mainverse Kirya and Rixik or your Cleaner One stuff difficult because there's a sense that they are broken and unhappy by comparison. I think I might have too much spare time on my hands

@Frauzet: using itching powder on a proto-Sith? Iolith’s braver than I thought. If Jedi serve the light side of the force, which is composed of life, would they be allowed to use condoms, since they prevent the creation of new life, or are they allowed as being able to decide if or when to have a child improves quality of life?

@Alaurin: There's nothing wrong with a Jedi in pink. Tarmin’s main colour used to be pink, though that might have been because he wore the covert energy top (until they made the brawler's harness and then the shirtless Jedi robe). Love the simple interaction between your two ladies, but you don't get points for that anymore: birds fly, fish swim and Alaurin writes great characters .

AKHadeed: I love how much detail went into what should have been a simple grocery run, it really adds to the immersion. I also like the detachment Ms Irons shows in combat. the fight's immediate and definitely dangerous, but she plans and fights tactically, as opposed to charging in and tunnelling on the nearest foe until dead.

@Bultitudes_Loke: Welcome to the thread. Simple, short and really captures the tired honesty of a battered old vet returning home. Hope he can adjust to the peaceful life.

My expression was calm and focussed, but inside, I fumed. Here I stayed, in this miserable cavern, far from the warmth and comfort of Castle Thul, all because some inbred halfwits couldn’t bear to leave the family estate that Ulgo took from them. I needed him, not because of anything useful he could do but because his great aunt ruled the planet a decade ago. Back in civilised space, anyone worthy of rule took it, not meekly awaited the blessing from the intellectually stunted, force-blind relatives of some dead biddy.

I checked my chrono. It claimed less than five minutes had passed since I last looked. It had to be lying. Lieutenant Muir had assured me that this operative would be here hours ago. I swear: if he has picked another worthless mercenary, I will have him boiled alive in treacle.

“Oh I just can’t waaaaaaait to be kiiiiiing,” someone caterwauled from the cave entrance. What in the name of everything profane was going on?

A golden furred Cathar stood in the entrance, one hand pointing towards the ceiling. He wore a set of exceedingly tight leggings that bulged hideously at his crotch and thing high boots, both dyed a garish white/pink colour. A large warstaff was strapped to his chest harness, the blades polished enough to dazzle. Only his alien fur kept his travesty of a wardrobe from leaping past gauche and into the realms of scandal. A bald black human with a ring tattoo on his head followed the Cathar, a wry smile plastered over his scowl. He wore a spacer’s duster and armour no military would use to arm their troops. There were no colours or emblems, just the dull grey-bronze of unpainted ciridium. A pair of blasters hung from a set of crisscrossing gunbelts at his hips.

Well, Muir has outdone himself. He hadn’t just found me another mercenary: he found a lunatic with a mercenary. I should have the flesh peeled from his bones by whatever they call the native insects, but this is partly my fault. This is what happens when I trust a simple task to force blinds. No, I’ll drown him in a vat of wine and serve his last breath to his family at the next gathering on Kaas.

The alien strutted into the cavern, past the guards. Muir must have told them about him because they didn’t bar his way. I don’t doubt this fiasco will fall back on me somehow. Maybe I’ll have Muir’s flesh stripped from his bones and put that in the wine vat? No, that would affect the flavour. Languidly, he prowled up to the crowd of curious onlookers. Just because they haven’t seen a Cathar before doesn’t mean they can ignore whatever they were doing before.

“Captain Lieber?” the Cathar purred to the crowd, tilting his circlet to a jaunty angle.

A man in a Panteer Queensguard uniform stepped out of the crowd, his posture wary.

“I am he,” the failure of a defender answered, watching the Cathar. The cathar took a moment to pour his gaze all over the Captain, before flashing him a lopsided grin. Any moment now, I expected violence, the Queensguard tossing this alien’s smoking corpse from this hideaway. It was one thing for a filthy Cathar to barge in here unannounced, but to insult the standing of a Queensguard by associating with him was beyond scandal.

“Lovely,” the Cathar purred, a feline growl curling around the word, “catch.”

Tipping the diadem from his brow, he let it roll down his outstretched arm and flicked it at the good captain. The coronet twirled around the crest of the Queensguard’s helmet before settling just above his eyes. the captain removed the silly trinket from his helm and his eyes bugged.

Wait; is that the crown? Where on Alderaan did the alien freak get it? I’ve had slaves searching the wreckage and last flight path for the better part of three months. Already I could see the fixer at the captain’s side whispering words of propaganda into his ear. The alien prowled past, heading right for me and Lord Aurren Panteer.

This time, I took a moment to see him. Okay, so he was a filthy Cathar, but power wafted around him freely. I tasted his power, a gentle, enticing frost with the faintest hint of the dark side’s bite. It made me think I could smell roses: I haven’t smelt roses since my honeymoon. Biting down the warm fuzzy feelings that swelled at the thought of my beautiful, obedient heirmaker, I saw through his trick. He influenced minds, making the weak more amenable to his ideas and insinuations. That had to be why a few of my retainers joined the yokels gazing at the freak. He didn’t even seem put out from the effort of such a complex and subtle weaving. His talents could take him far under Ravage, not that I would ever reveal him to my master. There are more than enough filthy aliens cavorting around Korriban and perverting the ways of the Sith.

“Good, you’ve arrived,” I began; ignoring the strange look the filthy Cathar gave me. I could work with this alien, if he behaved and cleared the usurper from the throne.

Bright_Ephemera: Wynston is just awesome. haha I dislike Kaliyo so i think his responses to her are on point.

Frauzet: I've always like the Force Visions in Star Wars.

Alaurin: Daww. You're colors piece was Cute.

AkHadeed: hahhahaha. I loved it. Especially since i love coffee and being out is terrible. What we do for coffee.

Bultitude_Loke: Welcome! Your piece was lovely.

Feldraeth: Buahahahahhhaah. I lol'ed at the "just can't wait to be king thing" Just epic. I'm still making my way through this thread. Think i've made it to page. 100. only 400+ to go. Someone get Feldraeth an Award!

Jedi Knight Excerpt 5: What The Force Binds Together...

Taya arrived at the Senate Tower only to be told there was nothing more to be done as the tracing of the holocall between Salarr and Lord Tarnis would take a couple of days at best. The anxiety and worry in the room with Agent Galen and General Var Suthra was starting to get to her. Fatigued as she was, she bid them and Kira a good night and headed toward the Jedi Council Chambers area of the Senate. She knew there was a meditation chamber and a small dormitory off the council chambers. Though sleep would be beneficial, she needed to center herself first with meditation. The events of the last few days and as well as that of her mother's death needed to be reflected on and properly processed otherwise her sleep would be plagued.

The meditation chambers were empty and quiet when she stepped in. It was a peacefully adorned room, with little comfortable mats laid out in a half moon pattern in the middle of it. Two benches with beige cushions lined the back wall. Several potted plants were hung or placed at intervals around the room. She could feel peace here almost instantly as she stepped in.

She didn't pick any particular matt, instead she moved to the back wall and sat cross-legged on the bench, her brown robes fanned around and over the bench hiding her white leggings. With a inhaled breath, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Using the breathing technique she was soon in a meditative trance, her mind bringing that which needed to be processed to the front, one at a time. Her trials on Tython leading to capturing Bengel Morr came and passed. The vision she'd had of her mother's murder came to her mind but was strangely taken over by that of Doctor Tarnis really being a Sith Lord. As the day's events on Coruscant that concerned Lord Tarnis played out in her mind, she focused on each one and allowed it to be played over before they were processed in her mind. Then came the tense reunion with her sisters. The news that their twin siblings that had been barely a year old when she'd gone to the Jedi, had been kidnapped the same day their father had gone missing unnerved her. They were still missing according to Nataliea and their mother had never stopped searching.

Taya had sensed that her older sister believed their father had something to do with the kidnapping, however, she only remembered the kind gentle man that would read her and Nataliea bed time stories. Of course what ever happened after she was taken to the Jedi, Taya didn't know. She could sense there was a reason but she couldn't see it.

The vision of her mother come forward in her mind and she was instantly hit with a wave of emotions. Those of her mother as well as her own. The fear, despair, pain and the strong underlying determination to protect her children were from her mother. They mixed with that of Taya's. Sadness, the pain she'd felt as her mother passed on, the strange hole that seemed to be in her heart at the loss of the connection she'd never even realized she'd had with her mother, it was like that of a raging ocean in a storm and she was bobbing around in it.

Just as she had when she'd seen her mother die, she called upon the force and the Jedi code to help calm this tumultuous ocean of strong and powerful emotions. Focusing on each word in the Jedi code as she repeated it as a mantra in her mind, she allowed peace to enter and calm the ocean. Before long she was at peace. In her mind's eye, she saw the ocean calm, still and smooth as glass.

It was within this calm and still ocean, she felt she wasn't alone. A presence, gentle and warm like that of the sunlight upon her skin during a brisk autumn day, was with her. She recognized this presence.

Mother? She said in the Force. The ocean in her mind's eye seemed to become real and vivid as she noticed a bright figure hovering above the still waters. The brightness seemed to dim but it didn't go away, instead it revealed an older woman with long wavy crimson colored hair that fanned out around her. Gentle laugh lines graced the woman's aged face beautifully. A warm smile was on her face, gentle but with traces of sadness. The woman nodded answering Taya, though she'd been aware of the answer.

“My darling daughter,” Annyala Rand said smiling, a glint of tears in her eyes. “Look at you, a beautiful grown woman and a Jedi knight. I am proud of you, honey.”

Taya found herself choked up with emotion.

“Mom,” was all she could say as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“shh,” Annyala cooed comfortingly. “There is no need to cry. Death is not the end.”

“I know,” Taya said stifling a sob. “I have missed you ever since I was taken to the Jedi.”

The vision or..ghost of her mother came forward and the feeling of sun warming her skin increased.

“I missed you, as have your sisters,”Annyala said. “There are many things that have conspired against this family but I will tell you this, had you not been taken to the Jedi, you would have been taken elsewhere.”

The sadness in her mother's ghostly tone caught Taya's attention. She frowned, “What do you mean, elsewhere?”

“You and Nataliea were just children at the time,” Annyala started to explain. “The twins were but babes, and Jayde was still an unborn joy. After Master Kwuin found you and took you to become a Jedi, things greatly started to change. Your father became....well... not the man I married or loved.”

Taya listened and wondered if her older sister had been correct.

“I had believed at the time,” Annyala said, “that your leaving to the Jedi had affected him, that he'd taken it very hard. It wasn't until much much later, just days ago, that I would understand what had happened.”

“Father had something to do with the twins' abduction?” Taya asked the sense of sadness enveloped her mother as her ghostly light nodded.

“I don't know the specifics,” Annyala sighed. “But the Force has always been strong in the Rand bloodline even though not all of our family have been force-sensitive. I had always known that I would have force sensitive children and that never bothered me. For what the force binds together, cannot be broken. Your father knew this as well when we married and knew that if any children we had were found to be force-sensitive they would, like go, go to the Jedi to be trained and protected. To go on and do great things.”

With a sad ghostly sigh, Annyala bowed her head for a moment before looking back at her daughter, “I wish I knew the answers but I do not. Had I seen him for what he truly was, perhaps I could have avoided what has since happened.”

Taya felt confused, “I don't understand, Mother, what happened?”

“Your father took the twins believing them to be force-sensitive like you,” Annyala answered quietly. “What his reasons were, I don't know. Where he took them, I'm not entirely sure. But I know, I've always known that they live. I don't know what lies in store for you or your sisters but I do know that the events that will shape this galaxy will have all of you at the forefront. These events may even put you against your own blood.” The light that was her mother enveloped Taya and she felt like she was a child once again in her mother's arms.

“I am sorry, so very sorry for such an inheritance I have left you and your sisters,” She heard her mother's voice as it faded. “Remember, what the Force binds together, cannot be undone.”

Taya opened her eyes and found herself back in the meditation chambers of the Senate Tower. The feeling of sunlight warming her skin faded and she realized once again she alone in the room even as her mother's words still echoed in her mind.

What the Force binds together, cannot be undone.

For a moment, Taya wept.

Captain Jayde! I love how lively and powerful the bond between mother and daughter is in this piece. And of course, PLOT TWIST DANCE.

FrauZet: I'm digging the Miralan cultural bits particularly! And I love how you took the prompt and ran with it.

Alaurin: the prettiest dress.

Bultitudes_Loke: You put a lot of research into that piece, and clearly polished it a lot. And it shows! Very nifty!

Feldraeth: Howdy! I like the dryness of the writing and how over-the-top some of it is! It had me waiting for the punchline.

Dark brown robes brushed against tawny sandstone. The two Miralans walked silently through the narrow canyon, side by side. The rain pounded steadily, turning the golden-brown rocks slick and slowly darkening them. The pair had their hoods hanging down over their eyes, almost like blindfolds. Still, without communication, they strode confidently side by side without any collisions through a gulley barely wide enough to traverse.

The taller shape was a male, with clear green skin a shade lighter than his sister's. They shared golden eyes, and blonde hair, the color of tanned leather. The female's eyes had a little more brown in them, and she wore her hair just a bit longer than her brother. Some strands of it fell across her face, dripping with rain.

“I can sense your discomfort, sister.” The male turned his head to look at his twin, pulling his hood back a little.

“I apologize, Omisthal. I didn't mean to share it. And I don't wish to be bothered by the rain.” Ophona looked up, drizzle trickling down her face. “Some things,” she added ruefully, “seem to be inevitable.”

“Ah, yes. If one stands in the rain, one gets wet.”

“And one must accept that.” Ophona shivered. She tugged her robe tighter around herself.

“If you'd sensed the crystal outcropping closer to our landing site...”

“Or perhaps if I'd planned more thoroughly for the weather....”

“Alas, what could be makes for a poor meal,” they both said together. The twins shared a quick smile. Ophona and Omisthal made the most of their bond most days, though they had their differences. Ophona, for example, was always a little uneasy about her connection to her brother. She knew it made her reckless and selfish. It kept her from being free to drift on the Force like a leaf on a river. Omisthal was confident enough in his own potential and power to not worry about such things. Ophona fussed. It amused both of them on occasion.

Ophona was given to fussing. She spent most of her time focusing on her training with her lightsaber. It allowed her to keep up with her twin's natural talents. While Omisthal was strong, Ophona was determined. She kept the Jedi code at the core of her soul, doing her best to stick to its dictates. Sometimes, that put her at odds with her brother, who preferred to trust his instincts.

Omisthal's head came up. The Jedi pulled his saber free. It whined to life with a quiet, double-bladed scream, revealing a long, elegant green blade nearly the same color as his skin. His sister followed suit immediately, igniting a single, bright blue blade with an almost musical chime. “What is it, brother?” Ophona asked, looking around for danger.

“I sense something...” Omisthal's voice trailed off and he closed his eyes. They flung open almost immediately. “Get out of the canyon, Opho!”

Ophona heard the ground rumble all around her, even in her teeth. She flung herself upwards, using the force to propel her jumps as she bounded from side to side of the walls, every leap pushing her higher. Behind her, her twin lifted his hands and grabbed the air, shaping it. The huge boulders on both sides responded, making a bridge to the top. He dashed up the rocks, passing Ophona as she took a moment to breathe, clinging to a crack in the wall with one arm and both legs.

At first, it was just a trickle of water, but then, with a thunderous roar of sheer, billowing sound, the flash flood arrived. Ophona could feel the wall vibrate, and couldn't steady herself for the next jump. She felt Omisthal's familiar presence, and then her brother grabbed her and flung her to the top of the canyon, his Force grip around her gentle and confident. She landed on her feet next to him.

“Thanks, Omis.” She flashed him a quick grin.

“Ah, I'm sure you had it under control, sister.”

“Perhaps if it'd been something I could fight with a saber, but I don't think I could halt that torrent.” Ophona meant it as a joke, but she regretted her words as soon as a pensive look insinuated itself across her brother's face.

“I wonder if I could...” He'd never been able to resist a challenge, and the question of whether he could hold back the raging waters intrigued him.

Ophona straightened up, eyes wide. “Omis!”

It was too late. The Miralan was already at the edge of the canyon. The Force gathered itself around him, the power building like lightening on a warm, muggy afternoon. The Jedi closed his eyes, feeling it flow through him, respond to him, shape itself against his hands and through his will. It came slowly at first, like the water, then flooded across the conduits of his body and his mind. His breath caught as it streamed past, so beautiful, so personal, so inviting. He sharpened his will, letting the current of it tug him along as he found the right place. There. Yes, there.

The flood waters bent around him as Omisthal pushed them back with his mind. The raging torrent was bottlenecked against the far side of the canyon, avoiding a half-circle around the consular as though his will was impassable rock. Ophona walked up beside him, awe in her face as she watched her brother bend the waters from their course. It was too much to hold, and after a few breaths, Omisthal let go of the flow and dropped to his knees. He gasped for air, finding himself suddenly exhausted.

“Why did you do that?” Ophona asked, staring into the gully as her mind swirled. She couldn't put her finger on why, but her brother's display of raw power disturbed her.

Omisthal smiled up at his sister, rolling back on his haunches. “To see if I could.”

“That's not why we do things, Omis...”

Omisthal felt a flicker of annoyance with his sister. He dismissed it. “Isn't it better to find out now, when no lives are at stake?” he asked, voice and presence calm and reasonable.

Ophona rubbed her thumb across each finger, not having a good answer. She shook her head after a moment. “Yeah, you're probably right. The crystals can't be too much further now...”

@CapnJayde: I liked the image of Annyala’s mother coming out of the ocean of the Force. Despite being given to the Jedi as a child, eschewing connections and family, the Force has other plans. For everyone.

@Frauzet- I'm all too familiar with knowing you should do something, but being unable to figure out a way to do it that's not awkward or rude. Hmm... the ritual is not going as intended. I wonder what this means? Unusual things in Force-induced visions usually mean something.

@Kitar- Thanks for the comment Skipping Rishi things for now, since I haven't been there yet.

@Feldraeth- RE: Just Rewards- Vette's comments about Sith who enjoy life make me wonder what'll happen when she gets over her fear of Baras. Is Risha the one she's referring to with the comment about the girl using a rifle as a security blanket? That made me smile, btw.

RE: Leaving Korriban and an Imperial Welcome- this story hooked me. I like that you're narrating from many different perspectives, including companions

@CapnJayde- Hmm. I wonder what happened to Taya's mother? I have a feeling that the masked man might have been a Sith, and that he's not gone forever.

@Alaurin- I loved this one! Great writing, great characters, and it felt very Star Wars-y

@Bright- I'm not very familiar with Kaliyo- no agent- but this seems pretty true from what I know of her. They're fun.

@Frauzet- I love the way you wove colors into your piece, with Arkeo's dreams and such. I kind of want to hear about itching powder in Sith clothes now. I think I officially ship Io and Arkeo now.

@Alaurin- Hello, fellow short woman! As weird as it sounds, one of my last strongholds in projecting myself into someone else is tall people. And I like the idea of a very feminine Jedi who loves pretty clothes. Cute story.

@AKHadeed- RE: Resolutions- You're giving my flashbacks to college roadtrips, stopping off at dubious connivance stores in search of a decent restroom and the right kind of Chex Mix. I like the image of Zeedor eating one of those kids popsicles in the shape of cartoon characters at the end

RE: The Jedi One- More great characters. I love the way they relate to each other, how they're different and yet so close.

@Bultitudes_Loke- I don't know if you've written before, but you implied you hadn't. You're doing a very good job! I can see your knight and feel his emotions at coming home.

@Feldraeth- Interesting to see how you incorporate some of the more ridiculous armors into a story. I'm guessing this cathar's personality will match? Or will he be incredibly solemn and dignified?

@CapnJayde- A very sweet and sad piece. Something tells me the twins will show up soon, won't they? I enjoyed how much love there was in Annyala's interactions with her daughter.

Mallena leaned on the railing of her family’s back deck. Her father had returned to work- although he was still with the Republic military, he had been in a desk job since she was fourteen- and the younger boys to school. The house seemed quiet, even with her mother, Jorgan, and Elara there.

She frowned into her breakfast smoothie. It had been three days since Jorgan had almost kissed her, and since then they’d barely said a word to each other outside of polite ‘good morning’s and the like. That was as much her fault as his, she supposed. She’d been too embarrassed to say anything, and the longer they waited, the more awkward it got. Closing her mechanical hand into a fist, she punched the railing softly and shook her head. What were Soreth and Aron thinking?

In the long run, it didn’t matter, she supposed. What had happened had happened, and she just had to figure out what she wanted to do now. Perhaps she should get dressed. As she turned to head inside, a bit of scent reached her nostrils and she paused. Even now, days later, her clothes still smelled like him: masculine and straightforward and a little bit like smoke. She recognized it instantly, though it was probably just whatever hygiene products he used.

Mallena sighed as she changed out of her pajamas. She was being ridiculous, acting like a love-struck teenager. Even if they could figure out what they both wanted, there was no way it would work, not unless one of them transferred to another squad or quit altogether. Regulations were clear that she couldn’t get into a relationship that would compromise the chain of command, as Elara would tell her in a heartbeat. She wasn’t ready to leave Havoc Squad yet, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to do it.

Pulling her sweater over her head, she shut the suitcase and turned to the mirror. A low beeping sounded from her pocket. “Hello?” she said, pulling out the comlink.

“Captain?” General Garza’s voice. Great. What did she want? Whatever it was, Mallena had a feeling she wouldn’t

like it.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut your leave short. A critical situation has been brought to Command’s attention. I need Havoc Squad in my office at 0800 hours tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll be there.”

“Good. Garza out.”

Mallena swore under her breath. To make it in time, they’d have to leave by lunchtime. Thank the stars they weren’t too much further from the core, or Garza’s order would have been impossible. Not to mention that she might not get the chance to say goodbye to everyone, and definitely would get to visit any more friends. “Jorgan, Dorne!” she called, starting back towards the living room.

“Yes sir?” said Elara’s Imperial-accented voice.

“Garza just called. Better start packing.”

The next morning, Mallena stood in General Garza’s office, feeling a bit uncomfortable, as usual. In a different outfit and setting, the white-haired human woman could have been a very stereotypical grandmother, but here, she was one of the most intimidating women Mallena had ever met, and she had faced down rakghouls, defectors, and Sith.

“Welcome, Captain,” the general said, pacing slightly. “You’ll be pleased to know that Commander Tavus’ trial is proceeding quite well.”

“Glad to hear it, Sir.”

“But that’s not why I’ve called you here. I’ve received a call from Jedi Master Oteg, requesting the assistance of

some of my troops. He says he’s discovered something that could change the course of the war. Command wasn’t very free with the details, but I understand it will involve an extraction from an Imperial maximum security prison.”

“And you’re sending Havoc Squad to do it?”

“Exactly. You can take a shuttle to the fleet this afternoon. But first, I have another matter that should have been dealt with a long time ago: it’s time for you to pick an XO.”

Ah, that. The squad’s executive officer would be her right hand: responsible for everything Mallena couldn’t handle, commander of partial squads should they ever have to split up, and her replacement if she was ever captured, incapacitated, or killed in the field.

General Garza continued. “As droids cannot hold rank, your choice is between Sgt. Jorgan and Sgt. Dorne.”

Mallena looked back at the two of them, feeling slightly irked that Garza had put her on the spot like this. Why couldn’t she have told her this earlier? She could have thought about it on the way and not have had to make a decision in front of her squadmates.

Elara looked her straight in the eye. She had only defected a few years ago, and while Mallena didn’t doubt her loyalty, she knew there were people in command who would never trust her. But should that get in the way of her advancement when she was obviously talented and capable? Still, it might cause trouble for the squad later.

Her eyes drifted toward Jorgan. She knew how she felt about him personally, but she had to make an objective choice. It didn’t matter how wonderful of a boyfriend he would make if he wouldn’t be a good XO. But how would it look if she promoted him and then they got together? However, he should have still been a Lt. anyway. It certainly wasn’t fair of Command to demote him over the Tavus incident, and even if it was, now that it had been taken care of, what should stop him from advancing again?

This wasn’t getting her anywhere. Elara knew regulations better than anyone she had ever met, was a better medic than Jorgan, smarter, and less emotional. Jorgan had more commanding experience, was handier in a fight, and had a better intuition for tactical situations.

Mallena looked back and forth between them. “Congratulations, Lt. Dorne,” she said, heart sinking as she said it. Nothing she could have said would have felt right. But Elara was stronger in her own weak spots, while Jorgan approached soldiering much the same way she did. The former Imp would strengthen the squad more than reinforcing her own ideas would.

“Thank you, Sir. I- I never expected…” Elara’s cheeks turned pink and she smiled like a little girl, the same way she had when Mallena had invited her to join Havoc Squad in the first place. “This is such an honor, I never hoped…”

Jorgan’s eyes were clouded and Mallena could see him swallow hard, but he kept quiet. She avoided his eyes.

“Excellent. Now, the shuttle to Master Oteg’s flagship leaves in two hours, but first, you should stop by

Procurement. I believe they have new equipment for all of you, including M1-4X”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Mallena saluted and left the office, her squadmates in tow. Dropping back, she touched Jorgan on the shoulder and motioned for him to walk more slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said, unsure of how to approach the subject. Should she explain her reasoning, or would that just hurt him more? Should she even be apologizing at all?

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Frustration still flashed in his eyes and one of his fists clenched at his side.

“I’m not mad.” His voice betrayed a lie- low and stiff, with every word sharply clipped. A pause. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable the other night, OK? But don’t let it interfere with running the squad.”

Jorgan quickened his steps to catch up to Elara, leaving Mallena to stew. Well, this is a nice pile of bantha poodoo, she thought. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t playing favorites because I think I might be falling in love with him, and now he thinks I’m upset because he almost kissed me, when that’s all I wanted to happen! She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. She would have to find a way to smooth this over, but she had no idea how.

Yes, this was more or less my reasoning for promoting Dorne over Jorgan.

Also, I figured it wasn't too much of a stretch for Garza to send them on the Taral V/Maelstrom Prison quest before starting Act 2 proper, which would then allow the imperial characters to finish at the "correct" point in the timeline, as opposed to having them do it when level would normally dictate and thus having Boarding Party take place before MP, which is illogical, IMO.

I received several comments on the use of color in my last story, as 'Colors' was the current prompt. That was a truly masterful exercise of mine, especially if you consider the fact, that it was done before I knew the prompt. That's the reason I was so happy when Striges posted the prompt. It fit my story well. I didn't change anything after reading the prompt

There were also several comments on my version of Mirialan culture. Those made me especially happy, since I made most of it up, as ressources on Mirialans are sparse. When I started I read what wookieepedia had to say on them, and there was a rpg source which has sadly expired (before I thought of copying its contents). What struck me as significant was Mirial's climate. Mirial is frigid and dry. Shortly after I reached that point I read the wikipedia entry about Inuit. You may find the origins of several of my ideas there. From there I let my imagination take over. Feel free to use any of these ideas in your own stories if you like them.

@alaurin: If I remember correctly then Syarra joined the Jedi unusually late, I think it fits that backstory well that she is more concerned about her appearance than the average Jedi.

@AKHadeed: Angie should advertise when she goes shopping, so that 'normal' people know when to stay at home. I enjoyed this story very much.

And Mirialan twins complementing each other, looking forward to more.

@Bultitudes_Loke: The description of the cybernetic eye was great. I can't decide if I am more interested in what Arkurul is doing on Tython, or what he did to receive all those scars.

@Feldraeth: Yes, Iolith is brave, although her sister had to be about 7 and she already 12 when the itching-powder-incident occurred.

I haven't thought much about the Jedi's general attitude towards the use of condoms. I think they wouldn't disapprove of their use by non-Jedi. Since Jedi shouldn't be having s*x at all, I doubt there are any recommendations for Jedi on that account.

I liked the description of the Cathar and the way it told much about Darth Victus himself. You captured the scene well, somewhere along the story I began to see the tents and banners in that cave.

@CapnJayde: That sounds like some very dark secrets hiding in the past. I like the little detail about the feeling from the vision fading, not simply being gone.

@Mirdthestrill: Unusual things in Force-induced visions usually mean something??? Who said that? That's got to be a rumor Well, it will be a while before Io gets to play dejarik again...

About this shipping thing, I can only say this will become even more complicated. But somehow Io got me to place her next to Arkeo in an older version of the cast picture. That happened at a point, where I hadn't even thought about Io meeting Arkeo.

Love your story about the promotion of the XO. I like the reasoning, although I'll take the same points and turn them against Elara. The situation is bad enough ingame, but with what happened in your story Jorgan had to make the wrong assumptions. Oh, I hope Mallena will be able to clarify her reasons. The situation absolutely warrants the use of strong language!

@frauzet, ah, the end of an eventful night! They’re so comfortable with each other when all the flood of worry goes away.

@alaurin, ah, Syarra spotlight! Even Jedi can have body image issues. Somehow I doubt there’s much in their training that helps deal with that.

@AKHadeed, Angharad and Zeedor’s latest caper was great. The only-remaining-caf punchline was fantastic.

And new faces! The relative strengths (and, possibly, judgment weaknesses) come through loud and clear.

@Bultitudes_Loke, welcome to the thread! Neat to hear a voice from someone so reliant on and accustomed to cybernetics.

@Feldraeth, okay, the Cathar’s entrance was glorious. The exasperated voice of the observer is even better.

@CapnJayde, it must be maddening to have so little information about something so personal – Taya’s curiosity really shows through.

@Mirdthestrill, ah, that damn scene. At least Mallena dealt with it decisively. I’m really not sure I would’ve taken the point-black question well.

July, 30 ATC

“Wynston,” said Pierce Junior.

Wynston tilted his head to eye the towering man beside him. “I’m already regretting this conversation, aren’t I.”

“You,” reported Junior, “have a grey hair. It shows up right well in the glare from this terminal.”

Wynston scoffed. “This terminal is probably lying to you. Destructive interference in the light waves. My hair’s fine.”

“It’s grey! You’re aging! This opens whole new avenues!”

Wynston hesitated as if weighing the possible consequences of continuing this line of inquiry. Finally, very calmly, he said “It does?”

“Silver fox. Ladies pine. Men can’t resist. Middle age was never so seductive. Audiences will love it.”

“I am not middle-aged!”

“Got hold of some files that say otherwise.”

“You don’t have files on me.”

“You think I didn’t figure out where you kept the Imperial Intelligence black files post-“deletion”? Just ‘cause you didn’t store them where anyone but the best slicer around can find them…you are forty-six if you’re a day.”

Wynston’s glare might well have melted the control panel. “Sod your investigative skills.”

“Hey, I keep your secret. Besides, it’s not so bad getting older. One year more mysterious. Who knows, you might get a distinctive air of your own.”

“I do not need to go through the acquisition process for an air of noble tragedy, Junior.”

“No, no! I’ve already sold all the books I can on that premise. Well, not really, but I don’t need you as the vehicle. For you I’m thinking more, ‘experienced and dangerous.’”

“I’m not developing an air of menace, either.”

“Ooh, menace, I like that. Subtle, though. Understated. Irresistible. The greyer you go the hotter it’ll be.”

“I’m getting back to our actual job here,” said Wynston, loudly rapping the console screen.

“All right, but I’ll have a draft of Aged in Passion out to beta readers before close of business tomorrow.”

“If you’re going to bloody use me for your romance novels–”

“–serials–”

“–rags–you could at least refrain from giving up my age.”

“Sex appeal is ageless, my friend. But a little grey hair works wonders.”

@AKHadeed: Glad you like Syarra’s dress…..she may be Jedi, but she’s still a woman and loves pretty things…..in pink.

Re: 1st piece-Ah, the eternal quest for a decent cup of coffee. I also find it difficult to deal with my morning until I’ve gotten that first cup into my system. Zeedor is brave to push her buttons at that point!  Of course a simple errand gets complicated……nothing’s ever easy, not even grocery shopping!

The ice cream was winning the war, I noted, and there was a bit of pink goo stuck in Zeedor's impeccably groomed mustache.

Re: 2nd piece-first off, I find that a good cuff upside the head works wonders for annoying husbands that ruin key moments. Making them sleep on the couch is also effective, as is a well-timed flush of the toilet and using copious amounts of the girliest fabric softener you can buy to wash his work clothes in. As for the story, I think you did just fine with the Jedi and I got a sense of the sibling rivalry between the two. I’m sure they’re going to be a fun pair and I look forward to seeing more of them.

@Mirdthestrill: I love Mallena stories!! The trooper storyline contains some really tough decisions, and that one was difficult for me. When in the mindset of my characters, I hate that Garza puts you on the spot like that. Mallena’s reasoning was sound for choosing Elara and that’s exactly how I went about it with my own characters. Mallay chose Aric because her and Elara are a lot alike. Zev chose Aric because he needed someone that wasn’t afraid to be tough on the others when needed, his own failing with his previous squad. If Tia were going along the normal Trooper path, she would’ve chosen Elara since her and Jorgan are too much alike and she’d want someone a little more even tempered as her XO.

@Alaurin- Hello, fellow short woman! As weird as it sounds, one of my last strongholds in projecting myself into someone else is tall people. And I like the idea of a very feminine Jedi who loves pretty clothes. Cute story.

@Striges:

@Alaurin: Pink isn’t a stereotypical Jedi color, but it might be cool if it were. Syarra, at least, would be happier. We don’t often see Jedi being concerned with mundane things like choosing clothes. It’s nice to see Syarra being happy about something so ordinary.

@Bultitudes_Loke: Welcome to the thread. Your first contribution was a wonderful read and your descriptions of the environment, Arkurul’s cybernetics, the sensations were fantastic. I’m always envious of people who are so good with descriptions since it’s one of my many weaknesses. I hope to see more of your work!

@Feldraeth: Your assassin seems quite the character! Love the descriptions of his attire from the Victus’ POV!

“Oh I just can’t waaaaaaait to be kiiiiiing,” someone caterwauled from the cave entrance. What in the name of everything profane was going on?

@Alaurin: There's nothing wrong with a Jedi in pink. Tarmin’s main colour used to be pink, though that might have been because he wore the covert energy top (until they made the brawler's harness and then the shirtless Jedi robe). Love the simple interaction between your two ladies, but you don't get points for that anymore: birds fly, fish swim and Alaurin writes great characters .

@CapnJayde: Glad you liked the color piece with Syarra!

Re: What the Force Binds Together- Oh, that gave me feels. Such a bittersweet piece. I’m behind on your storythread, but I’m eager (as is Taya I’m sure) to see what happened to the twins and their father.

@frauzet:

@alaurin: If I remember correctly then Syarra joined the Jedi unusually late, I think it fits that backstory well that she is more concerned about her appearance than the average Jedi.

@Bright: Thank you for that wonderful age listing. I’ll include it with the prompt when I update the Index and Archive later.

RE: the Lifespan piece- I was already laughing when I saw Junior in that first line! Silver fox…..HAHAHA!! Aged in Passion……priceless!! I had tears in my eyes by the end!

@alaurin, ah, Syarra spotlight! Even Jedi can have body image issues. Somehow I doubt there’s much in their training that helps deal with that.

“Stubborn bastard!” the tall figure seethed, whipping the rocks glass into the fireplace. The flames hissed for a second as the man continued to pace along the ornate rug.

He passed the family portrait, snarling at the reminder of what was causing his current troubles. The portrait had been done a few years ago, just after his son had graduated the Military Academy on Coruscant. His wife had arranged it with a local artist, a way to show their off pride in their son’s service and gain public favor.

Back then he had a good life, a picture perfect family, an heir, and a promising career. Then that idiot boy had to screw it all up by trying to play the hero. Now things were getting messy and if it was one thing Edwin Bradley hated was anything less than ordered. He preferred things neat and efficient, his home, his staff, his business, his family, and his friends. Everything served a purpose and when it no longer did so, it was disposed of like used furniture.

It wasn’t his son’s death that bothered him as much as the circumstances surrounding it. It was an election year and a lot was riding on him winning it, including several very lucrative contracts for his high school friend and occasional lover, Karen Mills. They could ill afford anything that would tarnish the wholesome family image he’d worked so hard to build. When he discovered his son had been responsible for the deaths of his squad mates, some Imperial officers, and several civilians, Edwin knew he had to take action. He’d called on another friend from secondary school, Robert Wilks, the same man who’d ensured his son get a position in the highly coveted Spec Forces despite the fact that the boy was nowhere near the caliber of soldier needed for that posting.

He’d been friends with Robert and Karen all through secondary school. Having come from a working class background, Robert had gone on to Military Academy while he and Karen went off to a prestigious college. Despite differing careers, the three of them stayed in touch throughout the years, occasionally calling upon one another for a favor.

Before the truth could come out about his son, both he and Karen had fired off messages to Robert, but he’d been reluctant to tamper with the records until they made the Colonel an offer he couldn’t refuse. Before the first of the three sole survivors was even out of the kolto tank, everything was in place. Robert managed to damage the recordings from Tempest Squad’s audio feed just enough to hide his son’s disobedience and make it look like the commanding officer was responsible for negligence. Then he switched the cases containing the armor cam footage with some old records going to storage, destroying it at first opportunity.

Robert Wilks had been a good friend and valuable asset until his guilty conscious got the better of him. Edwin started wondering about his friend’s motives when Robert had gotten careless, forgetting to delete the messages he and Karen had sent offering him money and contracts in exchange for covering up his son’s part in the mission failure. It was a costly mistake since a former Tempest CO, Colonel Hallyard, was doing some personal investigation into the mission and its fallout. Hallyard found the messages and was bringing up charges against Wilks, until a friendly fire incident claimed his life. A friendly fire incident that had cost a lot of credits to arrange.

Things had died down after that and the records had been sealed on the charges. The cover up was safe and he’d won the election for Senate. Everything was going well until a couple months ago when a hacker found their way into the Military databanks and found the sealed file showing the charges Hallyard brought up against Wilks. The hacker had been kicked out before anything could be downloaded, but they’d seen enough to raise questions. Questions that could lead to things getting messy.

It took some of Karen’s best people, but after a few days they traced the hacker back to Dekkyn Varlok, one of the three survivors from Operation Landslide. That’s when he and Karen decided it was time to tie up all loose ends. Anyone who knew the truth had to go, including those three survivors, Dekkyn Varlok, Zevryn Varlok, and Jaxzin Roark. It was also time to deal with their old friend. Robert Wilks had served his purpose, but now he was just another loose end that needed cutting as well. He decided to use the same ‘consulting firm’ that handled Colonel Hallyard for them, Manson Strategies based on Nar Shaddaa.

However, after two months, much to Edwin’s dissatisfaction, all four men were still very much alive and knew they were being hunted. Not only that, but thanks to one of Dekkyn’s crew, he and Karen were aware that the three survivors were also after Robert. Certain their old friend would talk, Edwin and Karen decided making preparations to disappear if necessary. They both had secret bank accounts and Karen had a couple of residences in Imperial space they could hideout in until things died down.

Edwin felt a twinge of guilt that his wife would take the brunt of responsibility, but he and Karen needed a scapegoat and she was a believable one. It was regrettable since he truly liked her, but she was his wife and would serve her purpose. Their marriage had been arranged to unite two prominent families in Corellian society, and all things considered, he couldn’t complain. His wife preferred the company of other women, but did her duty and provided him with an heir. After that, she didn’t care if he strayed as long as he was discreet and they both had a mutual understanding ever since.

Even in his late fifties, the Senator still cut an imposing figure. His golden hair had gone silver, but he’d kept himself remarkably fit throughout the years, wanting to keep his image one of vitality. He’d aged well and was still a good looking man who had no troubles finding a bed partner. He loved all types of women, young, old, whores, debutants, and had several mistresses all over the galaxy. Rare was the woman that turned him down and he still felt a pang of annoyance that the dancer from Nar Shaddaa rebuked him a couple of weeks ago. Then he remembered his consulting firm was in the process of acquiring her. Maybe I’ll have them hang on to her after they use her to snag the bigger fish. I can pay her a visit and show that uppity sl*t how to f*ck a real man. That really pissed him off……the b*tch turned him down then took some lowly Cathar for a lover. Yes……breaking her will be fun, he mused, a malicious grin crossing his handsome features as he thought of all the things he’d like to do to her. Eager to ensure he’d get to teach that dancer her place, Edwin picked up his comlink to call Manson Strategies.

“Damn,” the tan skinned Human cursed as he snatched the robe off its hook on the refresher door, “Always when I’m in the bloody shower.” The chiming from his office continued and the young man hurried, knowing there was only one person who contacted him on that frequency. He frowned as he hit the switch and the image of a balding Human appeared.

“Keeper,” he greeted his caller as he sat down in the soft chair at his desk.

“Cipher Five,” Keeper acknowledged, “I’d like to congratulate you again on your recent success. Your intel will prove vital to our efforts in securing that base.”

“Thank you, sir,” the agent nodded, “But somehow I don’t think you’re calling just to congratulate me.”

“Your powers of perception are astounding,” Keeper observed dryly, “I hate to send you out so soon, but your particular skill set is needed. We need someone that can assimilate to an identity quickly and is good at getting people to open up. You’re more than capable of doing those things and I trust you to get the job done with minimal assistance necessary.”

“An undercover assignment then,” Cipher mused, not looking forward to it since he’d only just returned to Dromund Kaas a few days ago. He let out a sigh as he reclined in his chair, “Give me the details.”

"Six months ago, one of our databases on Nar Shaddaa was breached," the older man explained, "Several key files relating to Camp Twenty-Seven were stolen. We had originally thought the thief had been killed when he tried to make the drop to SIS. We recently discovered he did manage to pass off the files before his demise. Your mission is to retrieve the files and neutralize the SIS agent."

"I assume you have an identity," the young man raised a brow at the Holo image.

"We do, Cipher," Keeper replied, "Agent Jonah Rydel. Transmitting the dossier to you now. A freighter with cargo has been procured for you and should be ready shortly. Details on your cover identity were transmitted with Rydel’s information. It is vital you find out if Rydel made contact with his superiors and get that data back, but we want to do this quietly if possible."

"Telos…..we have any of our people there?" the agent asked as he turned on his computer.

"A small remote base, but they’re at your disposal if needed."

"And the family?" Cypher Five murmured as he began skimming the contents of Rydel’s file.

"Its your call. Eliminate them if necessary, just use discretion," Keeper cautioned, "Contact me when you have the data."

"Acknowledged and understood."

“Good luck, Cipher. Keeper out.”

Cipher Five disconnected the call and returned to his reading, running his fingers through his thick black hair, still damp from the shower. Jade eyes paused their perusal as they reached the section going into detail on Rydel’s family.

“Oh I won’t need any luck, Keeper,” he chuckled softly as he studied the stunning redheaded oldest daughter, a plan already forming on how to get to Agent Rydel. Even in a photograph, he could see a rebellious streak in those green eyes. A further glance at her bio told him all he needed and a cruel smile crossed those darkly handsome features, “This assignment might not be so bad after all……especially if pretty little Belladonya is a virgin.”

I just gave Jackson the designation of Cipher Five…..hope its alright.

Slowly, I worked the cleaning cloth down the length of the barrel. I swiped in only one direction, rubbing in the oil so any excess would pool at the tip. I had done it this way, ever since my father showed me how to oil the rifle. Oil for the metal, polish for the wood, fluid on all tech parts, and all is good. Simplistic, I know, but it’s a great way to teach a four year old. I’d had this rifle since then, kept it through everything and anyone who thinks they knows me will tell you I don’t keep anything but credits and contacts for long, not even banking info. They’re right for the most art. This rifle is my one staple, the only thing that’s been with me from start to so far.

Partners, clothes, hairstyle, even eye color for a few jobs: they were all transitory. This rifle wasn’t. Even when I couldn’t use it for one reason or another, I kept it close. It didn’t have all the special gadgets you could find in modern rifles, though I kept it usable. Over the years, I had replaced the barrel, the ionisation chamber, the crystal gain medium and even the stock. I added a holographic display, synced to the rangefinder and accurate to two kilometres. It had failed me once or twice, jamming or breaking in the chaos or battle, but that was its components. Components could be replaced, context couldn’t.

It had been my mother’s and the only thing in the galaxy that proved she even existed: aside from me, of course. The only record of her was that my father fought another gangster over her. I didn’t even know what she looked like. Father used to tell me that I looked just like her, that she was the most beautiful woman in the universe, and he would know. Hundreds of women worked for him, as crew, as contacts or worked in his flying fortress. I remember a few and they were all beautiful.

Strange that none of the crew ever mentioned that my mother was a combatant. No, they gave the impression that she was more the ‘stay in the cockpit’ type. Get your mind out of the gutter, that’s my Mom. Father might’ve just bought a decent quality rifle and given it to me, claiming it was hers. It would be just like him, lying to achieve his goals. He wanted a daughter competent enough to become queen, and that meant being able to use a blaster. He was also my father and wanted me to be safe, on one level or another. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was hers. He held no sentiment in his black heart but it would be easier to train a four year old with a pistol instead of a rifle twice her size. More than that, a rifle is a specialised weapon, unsuited for many situations.

A sniper rifle grants its wielder the safety of range and a better view of the battlefield. You can’t just charge into combat with a rifle, the single shot or three-burst modes can’t match assault rifles or cannons. The barrel is also is far too long for a fast draw, making it advisable not to get in situations that need them. A sniper rifle is ideal for providing support. In short, my father wanted to ensure I would plan for everything, and then be far away if it goes bad. That kind of thinking has saved my life a few times, even if not everyone else got out safely.

A beep rang through the workstation: the diagnostic done. Back to work, I sighed to no one in particular. Slowly, I put the cloth down and slid the rifle under the console. I’ll see you later, Mom.

The faint hiss of the mag-containment field sparked over the shuttle and I felt the other passengers breathe collective sigh: we were here. For most of the other passengers, the difficult journey was over. The low vibration ran through the floor of the shuttle as the landing struts extended and gently took its weight. The shuttle supported, I felt butterflies in my stomach as the repulsorlifts cycled down, letting the station’s gravity take over.

I was up before the Trandoshan beside me, opening the storage locker to retrieve Mako’s backpack and my jetpack. It’s not that I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t steal our bags but I wanted us to be out of the shuttle as soon as possible. I held out Mako’s pack before she even unclipped her restraint harness.

“Why rush? It’s not like we’ve got bags in the cargo hold,” Mako protested as I slipped my jetpack on, checking to make sure that it linked up with my bracer. The last thing I needed was it failing if an angry Sith charged me.

“We want to be off the shuttle as soon as possible and the second or third in the queue.”

“You really don’t want to miss our flight, do you?” she queried, her augmented eyebrow raised, “You know customs won’t take three hours, right? We have plenty of time”

“Yeah. Now, when we get in there, there’ll be two lines, one for humans and the other for aliens. Get in there first and go in with the humans. Customs spots a pretty, young woman with expensive cybernetics flanked by an alien in heavy armour and they’ll assume I’m your bodyguard and process me relatively quickly. It’s the only way for aliens to get through customs in under an hour.”

It might be odd for someone in a profession deals with people all day, but I’m not a people person. Add that to the famed inscrutability of my people have and the ungracious would call me rude or belligerent. Imperial customs would be ungracious at best. Mako however, was disarmingly sweet. If she handled this, we would be through before any of them thought to detain me for whatever reason they wanted.

While they won’t be as openly anti-alien as most, they will make it difficult for any they view to be ‘troublemakers’: it’s their job. We couldn’t afford to let them to detain us because they thought I insulted them. Imperial policy was to hold anyone stopped by customs or security for twenty hours, no matter what flights they booked on. The shuttle operators knew this and worked it into their contracts. If they detained us, we’d lose our tickets, and we didn’t have enough to afford another pair. In short, if someone wanted us gone, now would be the perfect moment to strike.

Mako knew all that. I’d explained it all to her before we boarded the shuttle, as a last chance to get out free moment. She hadn’t taken it, instead insisting that she came with me. I suppose there wasn’t much for her on Nal Hutta or Nar Shaddaa either, with Braden and Jory dead. No, she is as dependent on winning the Great Hunt as I am. Still, I can’t discount the possibility of Tarro Blood or another contestant striking at us though. If the authorities arrest or execute another contestant based on your tip, you haven’t attacked them: no rules are broken.

“Also, you’ll have to do the talking, okay.” Uncertainty flickered in her brown eyes before determination clamped it down. It would have been adorable on anyone who wasn’t my partner. On her, it was just troubling. I knew Braden had kept her out of combat, could agree with him in certain situations, but had he sheltered her from the safer aspects as well? Had he really let his pseudo-parental relationship stunt her competency? Fortunately, her inexperience here would be mistaken for earnestness.

She nodded and rose. The Trandoshan stepped into the aisle, blocking the passengers behind us while we slipped out. That in itself was astounding: not that he heard, understood and helped us get out, but that he inconvenienced several humans behind us. He really must be banking on his size to prevent people from starting trouble. Nodding my thanks, we filed out of the shuttle.

The hanger was a small sub-hanger, scarcely large enough for two ships. Across the deck, a small hexagonal tube elevator ferried the last set of technicians in five-man batches. Another door disgorged droids and techs from over on the far side of the hanger. We must’ve arrived during shift change.

Once upon a time, I would have loved this setup: It was a shipjacker’s paradise. There were only three ways in, two that could be blocked or covered and the third being to space. I only counted two cameras in the entire hanger, and both pointed at the internal entrances. All this meant that once you were in, preferably via a spacesuit or personal magcon field, you could jack a ship and fly out without any real opposition.

I forced the notion away. Not only was I not a shipjacker anymore, but jacking a ship in Imperial space was tantamount to suicide. Their fleet wouldn’t hesitate to fire upon anything that didn’t carry a Sith and its suicide to even consider jacking a Sith’s ship, especially if they’re in the same galactic arm as you.

Instead, I filed out down the shuttle’s ramp. Mako was in front, leading by a step or two and following a line on the floor that pointed towards one of the exits: a short-range elevator. People milled around us, most heading for the back of the shuttle, where the droid attendant disgorged their luggage. Some of the first out already had theirs and followed us to the lift. The businesswoman and her twi’lek love slave were among them, the bells on his lekku jangling as he hauled her twin suitcases. So were Ms Djannis and her spook friend. Now that there wasn’t a headrest blocking my line of sight, I got a good look at him.

Like I said, first impressions were bland: short brown hair parted down the middle, light tan, lantern jaw and full moon opaque spectacle cybernetic augments. He wore a grey longcoat over a lighter grey synthcloth shirt and trousers made from some oiled leatheris variant. Hung in a harness over his shoulder was a masterpiece: wroshyr wood stock and undercarriage, polished metal barrel and exciter assembly etched with beautiful geometric triangles. It even had a dual IR and optic spectrum rangefinder. I’m not a gun fetishist or a collector, blasters are only as valuable as they are useful to me, but even I recognised a work of art when I saw it. Tearing my eyes off his magnificent weapon, I saw him look right at me, Crap!

I’d hoped to avoid running into Intelligence for my stay in Imp space, even more so than the Sith. A sith could order your death on a whim, but there were less than a million in a galaxy of quintillions. Chances were I wouldn’t run into one, even in the heart of the empire. Intelligence however, was everywhere.

Worse, they were the kind of people pragmatic enough to consider hiring an alien bounty hunter; competent enough to be able to read Chiss body language and wouldn’t hesitate to vanish me if they didn’t like anything about me. Stars, they might do it just because the tech in Mako’s head flags up as military-grade slicing apparatus. Here I had drawn his attention: stupid, stupid idiot!

I nodded at him, as one professional would to another. As a bodyguard, I would check out everyone who had weapons near my charge. We said no words, just shared the look for the briefest of moments, but I think it was enough. He carried on, passing Mako as he slipped into the elevator. I breathed a sigh and slouched as much as my armour allowed.

Okay: new plan. We let him get all the way through customs before we head up. So long as we’re not the last aliens in the queue, we should be fine. Now I just had to tell this to Mako, who was getting on the elevator with tall, dark and bland. Sithspit! I hustled after her, firing my jetpack to catch the lift just before it rose into the tube.

Landing on the platform, I slammed into the repulsor field. It wasn’t strong enough to bounce me off, but it wasn’t exactly weak either. I teetered on the edge of the platform, and I would have fallen had someone not grabbed my arm and hauled me in. I staggered in and my rescuer held me close against his warm, soft longcoat: so, not Mako. I looked up into the full moon spectacles on the spook.

“See agent, I make you look so good alien babes throw themselves at you,” Ms Djannis crowed from his far side. She was all smiles, right up till I saw her eyes. They poured over my armour and weapons with the same hunger a Wookie would show a steak. She wanted my gear, or perhaps my position in his arms. I can normally gauge people, but she was an enigma. No, there was something else in her eyes, a calculation beyond the liquid fires of hedonistic insanity. Unfortunately, I have no clue as to what it factored into it, but whatever the conclusion, it was trouble.

I gave the impression that I hadn’t heard her, instead stepping out of the agent’s space and half-turning away to face Mako. No one with half a brain takes their eyes off anyone who looks at you like that, but I had a cover to maintain.

“Don’t run ahead, Boss,” I growled, slathering a heavy Nar Shaddaa accent over my words. I know what I’d told her, and she’d been following my instructions, but if they didn’t see us together, they wouldn’t make the connection.

Her response was drowned out by the whine of low-grade repulsorlifts taking the weight of the shuttle. Wow, they really didn’t waste time. Only droid run shuttles were that efficient and the shuttle company traded with the promise of sentient pilots. Most people prefer the idea that a sentient is in control of their ship for some reason. The why of it is beyond me, but it apparently sold tickets.

The elevator hissed to a stop and we slowly bustled into the room. It was sparse, plain metal walls divided by a pair of large computer terminals and two body scanners. They weren’t after weapons, only contraband. At least, that was the theory. What classed as contraband varied from person to alien, with Sith able to breeze past carrying galactic level threats in hand luggage, while aliens had trouble with bottled water.

I had no idea how well the mobile weapons platform I called my armour would fare, but it was necessary equipment for my job. That was one of the caveats in their contraband document: if it was demonstrably necessary for my job, I had a lot more leeway. Since I am a registered bodyguard with a bounty hunting licence, according to the Nar Shaddaa registry of Non-technical Trouble-shooters, we shouldn’t have any trouble over that.

There were two lines, as I mentioned earlier, and humans started queueing. Ms Djannis followed the agent up the alien line and he flashed something to the attending officer. They passed through without incident, vanishing into the lift beyond. I let myself breathe again. Okay, biggest threat gone, now we just had to deal with the rest.

Mako followed my earlier instructions, joining the queue, and I kept pace, albeit from the other line. It turns out that keeping pace wasn’t all that hard: I was the only alien left from the first batch that wasn’t property. Slowly, Mako filtered forwards, reaching the front of the queue just in time for the second batch

Two agents awaited her, a young red-haired woman barely out of her teens and an older, dark-skinned woman behind the console. Both wore the soulless grey armour of the Imperial army, but without helmets. Huh, I thought all guardsmen, or guardswomen in this case, were required to wear their full uniform when on duty but I suppose they had dispensation otherwise. Men tended not to try and kill pretty women if they could help it, and that affected their effectiveness in combat. Both women were Imperial guardsmen, they wouldn’t hesitate to gun anyone down if so ordered.

Mako approached, raising her hands to let the younger wave her hand scanner over her. Briefly, I wondered whether her cybernetics would set off any alarms. They were beyond commercial tech, and any halfway decent analyst would flag them up as suspicious. If she was detained, I’d get detained, and anyone looking too hard at my background wasn’t good. The darker woman frowned and pointed at the full body scanner.

Uh-oh, there was something wrong: the full body scanner was much more powerful than the handheld wands, able to fully penetrate and scan even inside the body. It had to be her implants; they were military grade. Mako stepped into the scanner and it didn’t go off. She stepped through, and I let out the breath I’d unconsciously held. Then she stopped and walked over the dark skinned agent. What was she doing? Was she trying to get us detained?

“I’m waiting for her,” Mako told the officer, helpfully pointing at me. The officer sighted me along Mako’s arm and visibly rolled her eyes. Then she tapped something on her datapad. Another officer glanced up from behind his console, frowned at me and gestured me forwards. As I approached, I got a good look at him.

He was short, balding and in surprisingly good shape for his age. That might tell me something about military fitness standards for non-front line officers, or something about his personal life. Given how all the customs officials were similarly built, I guessed at the former.

“Miss,” he paused as I approached, taking a moment to check his datapad, “Azula?” Well, at least he tried, which is more than some bother. The number of times aliens have called me Kaina is staggering.

Why do aliens, and humans in particular, fail to understand Chiss names? They’re not difficult. My name, Kaina’zul’anon is a tripartite name, with my father’s family name at the front, my personal name in the middle and what would normally be the family I reported to regarding my function in society at the end.

I trained as a pharmacist and biochemist, and if I had finished my studies, including the year shadowing in a hospital pharmacy, I would be Kaina’zul’sabosen. As an exile barred from my profession, since criminals cannot work in the community-oriented Sabosen family, I have the –anon suffix. It’s not difficult. It’s certainly easier to understand than Suudaa Nem’ro: Suudaa, leader and personification of the Nem’ro Kajidic or Grand Moff Rycus Kilran, the butcher of Coruscant: Rycus of family Kilran, who holds the title of Grand Moff and is famed as the butcher of Coruscant.

Furthermore, it’s traditional for only men to use the abbreviated family and function names as an expansion of their core name. It came about to ensure that the men enlisted in the Chiss Expansionary Defence Fleet didn’t forget their roots on month long patrols. Females have only been permitted in the CEDF for about a hundred years and the tradition hasn’t yet caught up.

“Zul, officer, I am female. Is there a problem?”

“Right,” he noted, flicking his eyes over me. Smaller frame, lighter armour designed to hang its weight off a belt harness instead of shoulder straps, less pronounced jawline, long and elaborate hairstyle: the evidence stacked with my assertion. Of course, he could be trying to check out my body: pig. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

“Any reason, officer,” I asked, trying my utmost not to look guilty. I was stretching the whole ‘bodyguard needs a mobile weapons platform’ line of reasoning, but the bounty hunting side should cover it.

“Any reason I want, Chiss,” he sneered, his inner xenophobe winning through his masque of professionalism, “but in this case you’re contaminated with Taraxicum Kaasicae spores.” I can understand why he would want to stop the virulent Kaas Dandelion from spreading to Dromund Kaas, but I was amazed that his datapad, which didn’t even have a data port, could scan me for biohazards.

Let me guess, he wants to take me to a decontamination station, make me strip off while he watches and let him hose me down. Then, when I’m naked and utterly helpless, he knocks me out and sells me to a slave-breaker. I’m not one for undue cynicism, but there are eighteen reports regarding the liberation of slaves captured this exact way. I don’t normally believe random reports, but I ‘obtained’ these from secure Republic channels. Each and every one shared way too many similarities, especially regarding the victim.

They were all non-humans in low status jobs without any dependents or acquaintances in Imperial space awaiting their arrival. Unless there was a conspiracy across the entire SIS to discredit Vaiken Station in documents that weren’t supposed to be in the public domain, I’d walked into an ongoing slaving operation. Worse still, I was their prime target.

Alien bounty hunters and hired muscle are somewhere around droids in imperial society. Chiss are also valuable slaves, mostly because the Ascendency negotiated a treaty banning the sale and traffic of their people in the Empire. Only exiles were exempt from this embargo, making us all the more valuable.

I had thought Mako would be sufficient to dissuade any kidnap attempts. She was a young human woman, who seemed to possess wealth or connections to the Huttese cybernetics industry. She might be able to bring a lot of scrutiny down on their operation, especially if the only bodyguard she trusted disappeared on customs’ watch: apparently they didn’t think so. Either that or they had ran her background with far more scrutiny than I had expected.

“Now, are you going to come quietly, or do I have to call security?”

@ Striges: It’s good to know that I am not the only one that needed a bit of in-game support in the form of a leveling buddy to get through the JC story.

As for the comment tagged under the SOR spoiler. I do have to say I never even thought of that, the dream actually is about something a bit different… and I feel a bit foolish for not thinking of that connection.

@ Feldraeth: Thank you! I was grinning when I read your comment. It really made my day. It is quite encouraging to know you enjoy reading about Ka’van.

@ Charmedseed: Hehe Ka’van will do just about anything to get under Jax’s skin, it's rather entertaining. You should hear some of the conversations I have in vent with Alaurin that spark these stories. I really did consider letting him walk through the ship in his birthday suit but decided that probably would not be a wise idea…

RE Family: Thank you. Such a nice compliment, I’m honestly not sure what I am doing that makes him so appealing but I’m trying very hard to keep it up.

@ CapnJayde: I totally understand. I actually ended up leveling a Jedi Knight simply so I could read Kabeone’s story Remi the Grey which I highly recommend.

@ Bright: I do feel for them both, having them stuck in that situation.

Also YEAH!!!! Another stat post, I love them, I really do! I was quite surprised to find myself actually on the list with Ka’van I never thought I would make any of stat compilations.

@ Alaurin: You finally named your ship! Now if I tease you enough perhaps you will name the other ones you have… you have an entire fleet of unnamed ships and considering Ka’van’s propensity to get around I would really hate to have to use the default of hurtling through hyperspace again…

Ahh I love it, though I do wonder if the time will ever come that the furball will wish he had left the ginger in the swamp.

@ Bright:

RE Grooming I always enjoy watching the interplay between Wynston and Kaliyo.

RE Lifespans I was also grinning like a fool when I saw the words Pierce Junior

@Frauzet: I really enjoyed reading the Jedi and the Spy stories.

@AKHadeed: I was excited to see you back and the story was great, the ending about the last remaining brand of caf had me laughing.

@Feldraeth: the introduction for your Cathar Assassin was fantastic, I am looking forward to seeing more of him.

Also reading the entire thread from the beginning, I am impressed.

@ Alaurin: Such a pretty kitty in pink, and now she has a lovely saber to match. Loved the villains pieces, I am still waiting for that Senator to get what is coming to him…

Humming he picked up a small crystal, inspecting it with critical blue eyes. Rolling it over in his fingers he stared through its clear, colourless, inclusion free, form. Nodding to himself he set it on top of the table reaching for another crystal, this one shining yellow, a yellow that reminded him of the late summer and countless acres of golden wheat ducking and nodding beneath the bright Balmorran sun.

Holding the thumb sized crystal in a similar fashion he slowly turned it over watching the light move through the stone; looking to see if any new inclusions had formed, if any additional fractures had been created.

Then a quiet knocking caused him to jump. “Who...” Ka'van muttered as he closed his eyes reaching out, searching through the Force. There waiting outside the apartment's door was Jax. “What is he doing here?” Ka'van frowned. Swallowing his annoyance, he turned his attention back to the crystal in his hand. Returning it to the cool white light of the magnifying lamp he continued to turn the stone over when another cautious knock filled the air. Sighing shook his head, tucking a loose copper lock behind his ear. “Suppose I ought to let him in...”

Ka'van bent back over the lamp as he reached out, depressing the doors interior locking mechanism. He heard the distinctive click of the locks releasing and the familiar footfall of the Cathar.

“Hey,” Jax greeted him, he sounded excited.

“Evening my friend,” Ka'van answered, not even looking up.

The footfalls stopped behind him. “What are you doing?”

Ka'van looked to the partially disassembled saber sitting before him, neatly arranged. “Just making sure everything is in proper working order.”

“Really?” Jax stepped closer, bending over to look at the contents of the table. “Do you have to do that often?”

“Not normally no. I keep an eye on this.” He held up the yellow crystal. “It is old and I don't want it to fail.”

“Could you get another one?”

“I suppose I could but this one is special.”

“What is so special about it?” Jax bent closer, intently looking at the crystal gently gripped between Ka'van's right thumb and forefinger.

Ka'van turned the crystal slightly, watching the light shift, changing from a pale yellow to a robust nearly golden hue. “Well it is so I never forget.” He fell silent as he rotated the crystal, a slight frown appearing upon his lips.

“Never forget what?” Jax pressed as he watched the light move through the crystal.

A heavy sigh blew through Ka'van's lips. “So I never forget Jedi are not infallible, that they can be rigid, unyielding, their logic flawed and their reasoning erroneous.”

“What?” Jax stared at him, eyes wide. “What do you mean? How can you say that?”

Ka'van snorted as he rolled the yellow crystal over, causing a brief golden tinted prism to appear against his hand. “It is easy. This,” he held up his hand, “this was given to me by two Padawans on Tython. I helped them, kept their secret and this was my payment, this crystal and a kiss.”

“What secret?” Jax questioned.

“They were lovers and it disgusted me.”

“The fact they were lovers? That bothered you? Really, you of all people?” Jax's voice dripped with disbelief.

“No,” Ka'van shook his head, “no everyone should have someone to love, even if it is just for the night. I was disgusted by the fact their own Masters were too cowardly to seek out their own answers. That they would ask a random youngling to snoop and lie and return like some obedient akk dog.”

“That is what disgusted me. They were right, the Padawans were lovers.”

“The Order frowns upon that,” Jax murmured. “They don't even like attachment to your own family. Whatever happened to them?”

“Well,” Ka'van set the yellow crystal down, picking up the neatly placed dratium power cell. Head down he returned the power cell to its home within the saber hilt's base. Deft fingers quickly and carefully replaced the golden crystal, setting the colourless focusing crystal in its shallow channel. Replacing the cover he let go of the hilt. “They flourished, after a word of warning against jealousy.”

“I informed the Masters that their assumption was wrong and that their Padawans were not intimately involved. The Masters never pried any further, forgetting the matter entirely I suppose.”

“The lovers managed to keep their romance hidden and in working together they became quite the pair, each making up for the others short comings.” Ka'van quietly shook his head as he ran his fingers through his loose locks pushing them off his shoulders.

“So you lied and helped them cover it up.”

“I refused to be a snitch and simply gave them a fighting chance.” Ka'van closed his eyes, as the reassembled hilt hovered a hands breath above the table. “Everyone deserves that much.” Reaching out through the Force he depressed the saber’s activation button. Beside him Jax gasped muttering a string of barely audible curses. Ka'van laughed, “Relax Jax, simply making sure everything is in good working order. You were in no danger.” With a golden hiss the saber fell silent coming to rest in Ka'van's palm.

“You still could have warned me,” Jax groused. The Cathar ran his clawed fingertips through his black mane, “So now that you are done can we go?” Jax muttered.

“Go where?” Ka'vans copper brow arched.

“Huttball game, the one I won tickets to in the Sabbac game last night. Remember? I holo'd you right after I won them.”

“Ahh yes, it must have slipped my mind. When is the match?”

“Two hours,” Jax grinned.

“I still can not believe that you have never been to a match before. Though I would rather watch than participate,” Ka'van shook his head. “So how did you know I was here?”

“Well I remembered you know that lethan Twi'lek that tends to the bar downstairs. When I asked if he had seen you he directed me up here. Nice guy, even gave me three-fingers of the Reserve on the house.”

“Ahh yes, Jy'lith,” Ka'van's brow quirked. “He is a good man.”

“Though I never figured your place to look like this.” Jax looked around the room, “so much black. Well not it in here, this looks more like a studio, with all these paintings and easel and tables. But the rest of the place, so much black.”

“Were you snooping Jaxzin?” Ka'van's brow rose higher as he forced a smile upon his lips.

“Naw,” the Cathar shook his head, “I just headed to the only light on in the place, it just looked rather dark on the way in, dark tiled floors, dark furniture, dark tables, I don't think I saw a single stitch of white on my way back here.”

“Well it is not my place, so I can't take credit for the decorating. It belongs to a family member. I am allowed to stay here when I am on planet.” Ka'van stood, picking up his neatly folded jacket. “Do you want to grab some nerf burgers and a couple beers? I am starving.”

“You ready to go then?”

“Yeah,” Ka'van glanced down at his black leatheris slacks and sleeveless black shirt, brushing off a tiny glint of dust. Clipping his saber to his belt he shrugged on the sleeveless jacket, smoothing his clothing he looked over at Jax. The Cathar was peering at a brightly painted landscape of honeyed golds, vibrant oranges, russet red and earthy browns.

“This is Voss,” Jax looked closer.

“That it is, come on lets go, we dawdle to long we wont have time to eat before the match.”

Giving the painting one last look Jax fell instep beside Ka'van as he strode down the hallway to the entrance. “Wait, if you would rather watch a match does that mean you have actually been in one?”

Ka'van chuckled, “I will tell you over dinner; Rusty Ronto Cantina okay with you? It's on the way.”

Jax nodded his agreement as they left. Ka'van quickly locked the door and turned towards the lift, to put as much space between them and the apartment, as possible. Hopefully stopping all future questions by distracting his friend with the evenings events.

As I have played with Alaurin, dear Captain Jaxzin Roark has never stepped foot into a warzone, so in my mind he has never attended a Huttball match in person. I have not given up trying to coax her into one though…

The apartment Ka’van is in, is his Mother’s apartment (my SW Kit’ar). It is located a few floors above the Slippery Slopes Cantina and accessible through a lift in that establishment. I do believe the apartment and Jy’lith the gentlemen who keeps an eye on things when she is off planet have only been mentioned in my AU stories over in the AU thread.

@Bright: Oh, the list of ages is amazing! I am reveling in your love of research (I consider myself a bit of a research junkie, too). And the grey hair thing is HILARIOUS. You have a great handle on humor.

RE Grooming - "Yeah, you weren't wearing it, but you were wearing it." Burn! Their banter is just hilarious.

@alaurin: RE Lucky Day - OMG I just love those guys. Your details as always are so spot on.

RE Pretty In Pink - I laughed SO hard. But that last line was killer. Pure gold (er, pink?).

RE Good Senator - Augh, Edwin makes me shudder. He's one of those guys that as long as he's in, I'm waiting for him to get what's coming to him.

@Feldraeth: It's funny you say that! I wrote a prompt piece on THAT conversation the JK has with Scourge. Because "stunned silence" isn't a response that Bioware offers.

It isn't even the SW him/herself... it's all the NPCs! And you're totally right about the companions! I can't say I like every one of them (DOC AUGH, wanna smack his face off his face) but they certainly all invoke strong feelings, which is always okay. Heh!

Anyway RE "Leaving" - Pig villages. *snicker*

"I think it’s how she shows she cares." Holy crap, that was mindblowing. Especially for a kid Roan's age.

I love the contrast in his thoughts; the sort of innocence in believing everything the Encyclopedia says, but still wanting more information. Do you work with kids that age? I taught elementary school for 4 years and seriously, anything you tell them is gospel. You captured that really well. I'm right there with Striges. Well done.

RE Welcome - "...if there’s anyone who’ll extort people over necessities on a twenty-six hour flight, it’s a Hutt. Not even Sith were that evil." Your one-liners are killing me. Hilarious!

And agree with Bright - the voices are very distinct and different!

RE Meet the Cathar: OH THE SINGING. And that Victus is so slimy. Augh. And I mean that in a good way, heh.

RE Imperial Welcome II - I loved the details about the name, and especially the way Zul talks (thinks?) about it is really indicative of her irritation and frustration. Fabulous detail.

@frauzet: RE PArt 4 - Arkeo and Iolith make me so friggin' happy. I like their patience. That near-death vision was SUPER intense, and I always love hearing about a character's past.

@AKadeed: Welcome back! I don't know why, but there's something really satisfying about this being in 1st person. Also this is exactly the way my husband is.

"I think meditating is Zeedor's code for karking around on the holonet." This made me laugh for probably an inappropriate amount of time.

The juxtaposition of going from killing a bunch of pirates to "eat your ice cream, boss" is fantastic. I was going to say hilarious, but it's more transcendent than that. Just... really, really cool.

@Bultitudes_Loke: Welcome! I felt just like you, I was super nervous the first time I posted (maybe a bit over a year ago?). Everyone here is amazing, you'll love it.

RE Final Steps: And then I read the first paragraph and seriously just shut up, you're awesome. Your prose is absolutely stunning, really grants a detailed picture of your Arkurul.

@CapnJayde RE What the Force Binds Together: This is a fascinating backstory - I'm especially fond of Jedi with family connection. Fantastic!

@Mirdthestrill RE Return to Duty: I must admit to having an extraordinarily visceral reaction when they got called back to Coruscant short notice - this has been happening all too often with my husband lately and I just had this surge of fury that Mallena had to do it, too. Oh, personal connection!

Damn, Garza, that's cold. (is that in the storyline in game?) Ouch ouch ouch. There was literally no good way to deal with that. Oof. I'm interested in seeing how it's going to progress!

@Kitar: You're so welcome! RE Colors - Oooooo, Ka'van kept them a secret! I always hated that mission (I think I said this recently to someone else, too), I agree with what Ka'van said - and Aitahea would too, though she wouldn't be bribed. I love that you pulled that in there. Fantastic.

“I’m sorry, you want me to find what?” I could feel my brow furrowing into a look of annoyance and struggled against it.

Darth Venatus was presumably glowering at me behind his mask, but he was polite enough to repeat himself. “The holocron of Darth Yinwal. It is supposedly buried in his tomb on Korriban. Contained within are his secrets to longevity.”

I coughed, trying to mask my incredulity. “Master, if I may ask,” I began carefully. “How effective can his techniques be if he’s…?”

“Dead?” Venatus cut me off angrily. “Lord Zeedor, as you well know, Darth Yinwal lived for centuries, and was one of the most powerful Sith of his era. His knowledge would be a piece to the puzzle of immortality.”

The same old dream. Living beyond your years; defying the ultimate lord of us all: time. For millennia, Sith Lords have been driven mad by the prospect of their eventual demise, and have explored many avenues in their quest to be immortal, from the implausible to the psychotically disastrous. Perhaps it was my own unique take on the Sith Code, my relative youth, or my experience as an archaeologist and historian, but I had only rarely been tempted by the thought of prolonging my lifespan.

As I had uncovered tombs and relics, and read the history of our order in the archives, it became abundantly clear that no matter how many sacrifices were made or plans were concocted, in the end, no one had managed to get around the temporal gatekeeper. And it was likely no one ever would. Organics decay, cybernetics degrade, and electronic intelligences corrupt. It’s just the way the universe works.

The true path to immortality was in creation. Making something that would be seen, heard, or experienced for as long as there were minds with the interest to see, hear, or experience it. In a way, all those Sith Lords whose tombs I uncovered and cataloged were getting their immortality, though I would imagine not in the way they had intended. And I was a part of ensuring that they stayed that way. It’s one of the secret thrills of the field for me.

Darth Venatus had finished briefing me, and I paid my respects and left. The perpetual drizzle around Kaas City dampened my robes as I strode to the taxi terminal. At the hangar she had rented for the Iron Wolf, Angharad Irons was casually leaning against her ship’s boarding ramp supports, helmet tucked under her elbow, flipping through entries on the Holonet.

“Where we headed, boss?” She asked, not looking up as I approached.

“Korriban, Ms. Irons.” I sighed. “Another wild bantha chase, I’m afraid.”

“Blast, and I just got the sand out of my helmet’s filters.” She put away the datapad and followed me up the ramp. We took our seats in the cockpit, got takeoff clearance, and made for the outbound hyperspace vector.

As she was inputting the coordinates for Korriban, a question crossed my mind. “Ms. Irons, are you concerned with the future? I mean, do you worry about growing old, fighting off the passage of time?”

She seemed to consider for a moment, but continued attending to the ship console as she answered. “Kid, most days I’m worried about living long enough to see my next paycheck or shot of whiskey.” She looked over at me. “I don’t really have time to think about the long-term stuff.”

“A most practical philosophy, Ms. Irons.”

I've been finding it interesting to really dig around in Zeedor's head. I first developed the character as a "light-side Sith" in the broadest strokes, somebody who was hilariously not with the program, but the more I sort of delve into it, I realize he has a canniness to him, trying to follow his own personal philosophy without drawing the attention of the "true" Sith around him. He'd still make a terrible Jedi, but he steadfastly refuses to go all-in with Dark Side mania.